


a hand to hold

by onlyeverthus



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Post-Episode: s01e08 Father's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 18:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13529754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyeverthus/pseuds/onlyeverthus
Summary: The Doctor tries to help Rose feel better after the events of Father's Day.





	a hand to hold

The mug feels heavy cradled in his hands, even though it’s just tea with two cubes of sugar and a dash of milk. Just like she likes.

She hasn’t noticed him yet, and he hasn’t announced his presence, just standing silently in the doorway of the sitting room that she likes, watching her.

Tea ought to fix everything, he thinks, but can it really fix the pain of watching your father die not once, but twice? Can it fix the hurtful things he said to her?

He should’ve told her no from the outset. Should’ve put his foot down when she wanted to try again, but he can’t say no to her.

Maybe he should practice in the mirror.

(He would cave at the first twitch of her lips, at the first sight of her tongue poking through her teeth. Or at the first glimmer of tears in those big brown eyes. He knows he would. All that practice, down the drain.)

(He’d probably rip a hole in the universe for her if she asked.)

There are a lot of things he should’ve done, and shouldn’t have done, but it’s over and done with. They can’t change the past. That’s a lesson they’ve both already learned the hard way.

Finally, feeling too big for the room, he clears his throat and steps inside. She looks up at him, eyes red-rimmed, and he offers her a tight smile.

“Tea,” he says. “Thought you’d like some.”

“Thanks,” she murmurs as she accepts the mug, the barest hint of a smile touching her lips. She sits up, lowering her feet to the floor, and it seems like an invitation to him. He sinks down beside her on the small couch, hands clasped between his knees, and watches out of the corner of his eye as she sips her tea.

There’s a long silence, during which she takes a few more sips, and he clenches and unclenches his hands. It’s a heavy silence, so much hanging between them, and eventually, he hears the softest sniffle.

“‘m sorry,” she whispers, and he raises his eyebrows as he looks over at her. Her eyes are shining, her nose red, and she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as her chin quivers.

He can think of a million and one things to say, all of them wrong, and finally settles on, “Me too.”

Her lips twitch again as her fingers flex around her mug, and he hesitates a moment before shifting back on the couch. She looks at him for a long moment, and then scoots closer to him, curling her legs underneath her as she leans against his side.

His arm settles around her shoulders, and she takes a slow, measured sip of her tea before finally letting her head fall against his chest. His fingers curl around the curve of her shoulder, and she takes a shuddering breath as her body sags against his.

_Maybe tea is only half the answer_ , he thinks as he lets his cheek rest against the top of her head. One of her hands drops to his leg, palm up, and he looks at it before sliding his free hand over her palm, clasping their hands together.

_Maybe it’s also just needing a hand to hold._


End file.
